Gamma Cell: Entries of a Strike Team
by Demangel
Summary: A newly formed rebel strike team begins to plague the Empire's dark reign, forcing them to turn to a maniacal outsider for assistance in eliminating their new threat. A man so devious and dangerous, that hiring him could unknowingly destroy both armies.
1. Entry 1: Distress Call

**Title:** Gamma Cell- Entries of a Strike Team

**Timeframe_:_** 2 years ABY

**Characters:** OC's/ Many famous cameos

**Genre:** Action/ Adventure/ Drama

**Storyline:** This is the origin story of what would become the Rebel Alliance's most trusted strike team--_Gamma Cell_. Through completing their missions, the GC unit begins to help shape the history of the universe and tip the scale of victory against the Empire's dark reign. Desperate, the Empire turns to a maniacal outsider for assistance in eliminating their new threat, a man so devious and dangerous that hiring him could unknowingly lead to the destruction of both armies.

**Disclaimer:** I only own the OC characters of this story, and nothing of Star Wars.

* * *

_[SCRAMBLE LINE ENCRYPTED] _

_UPLINK CONNECTION VERIFIED--- _

_STAND BY FOR INCOMING TRANSMISSION_ _

_REBEL TRANSPORT: FIREFLY _

_DESTINATION: HOTH/ REBEL SUPPLY BASE/ DESIGNATION # 143_

_-YOU HAVE BEEN CLEARED FOR INSERTION _

_ALL SYSTEMS GO._

_END TRANSMISSION. _

* * *

_GAMMA CELL- ENTRY 1:_

Night had just fallen over the pale world of Hoth. The temperature declined to a degree that could quell the mighty volcanoes of Mustafar into a cold sleep. Wind and snow combined their efforts into a blinding storm of hale, punishing the surface level with gusts of hazy distinction and welters of whiteout. Alone in the perils of the frigid night sky, traveled a single transport vehicle, soaring with purpose across the vast mountains of ice that encompassed it. Slowly, but surely, the vessel progressed towards its hidden destination, a sparsely known Rebel Alliance Supply Base, designation 143. Within the ship's steely domain, four rebel soldiers sat in a shaded gloom, stricken with silence; their low, muttered breath evaporating almost tunefully to each clunk of turbulence. They had been ordered to report for duty in a classified mission, knowing full well that refusal was not an option. Amongst the allied force entrenched in darkness, Sergeant **Ryle Terhi **stood slumped against the back wall of the inner hull, eyes bound together in slumberous concentration. This was his means of preparation. To ready the mind for what the body will face. Such was his way, the old way.

Ryle may've been under the command of the Alliance, but he was as different from the Rebels as the Storm Troopers that they battled on a daily basis. The squad aboard the ship housed their bodies in rebel issue snow gear, created to help shield them from the chilling -61%C on the outside. However, Ryle seemingly possessed no reservations in wearing a tactical suit of light durasteel body armor, instead, the likes of which appeared outdated to the equipment of this age. A bold move considering it provided virtually no protection from Hoth's arctic environment, but he didn't appear worried in the least. With a sudden decrease in altitude, they had finally arrived at their destination. Carefully setting the vessel into a low hover over the scattering snow of the terrain, the pilot steadily maneuvered into a docking sequence with Supply Base #143's hangar bay.

Once processing the access coding needed to gain entry from the base's emergency locking system, the thick, towering doors that guarded the facility slowly folded open. Grinding gears moaned out loud as they retreated back into synchronization with the frosted compound walls, clearing the way for the ship to proceed inside. Cutting power to the shuttle's front and rear thrusters, the transport landed amidst a small fleet of unoccupied X-Wing starfighters, sitting serenely in an eerie, dark dormancy. The clanking of boots then resounded down the shortened stairwell leading to the cockpit as a Rebel Officer stepped into the dim illumination provided by the flashing onboard lights. Before speaking, he surveyed the team occupying the hull. They were a ragged bunch, picked for reasons still a mystery to them. In his head, he questioned whether they were indeed ready for what was ahead. "Listen up, grunts! I'm gonna say this ONCE, and only ONCE. Three weeks ago, Echo Base lost contact with Supply Base #143, which is our current position. You should know that the last transmission received held large amounts of screaming pleas for help before fading to static. I'd play it back for you, but I would actually like to get some sleep tonight. Regardless, you are here to investigate this matter and seek out the source of the disturbance. We don't know what you'll find inside so be ready for anything. Any questions?"

A lengthy soldier called out to his superior from the front of the ship, while simultaneously slamming a power pack into the bottom of his E-11 blaster rifle, producing a charging buzz. "Why are there only four of us going on this mission, sir? Wouldn't it have been better to send an established strike team? I mean I've never even seen these people before, let alone fought with them." The tall lad had proposed the same question running through the entire squad's thoughts. Why would the Alliance send so few recruits to investigate a situation that could easily be an Imperial ambush?

"You are all the Rebel Alliance can spare at the moment, and that is all you need to know. However, I guess you are all entitled to introductions. Start us off with your name, rank, and specialty, soldier." The Rebel Officer referred to the same recruit who spoke up first.

Stumbling with unexpected surprise, the lengthy soldier oafishly smiled a long row of teeth before getting around to introducing himself. "Lieutenant **Brice Ahmarot**, sir! I am a Class-1 Demolitionist, specializing in both the activating and defusing of over 100 different charges of explosives and implosives."

The Rebel Officer nodded appeasably as Brice completed his biography quickly. He was a poster boy for what a soldier should be, respectful, cooperative, and confident. Everything this army needed. The Rebel Officer then turned to the next random squad member he wished to hear from. Examining around the enclosed space, he next chose the seasoned faced Zabrak male seated beside Ryle, throwing a nod to him so he knew it was his turn to speak. "Doctor **Merid Rehald**, sir! I am ranked as a Class-1 Physician with degrees in over 20 forms of surgical procedures and medication." Though slightly older in age than the rest of the rebels around him, Merid was renowned as one of the finest doctors in the Rebel Alliance occupation. Many times was he successful with crucial in-battle surgeries, a skill that earns him continuous merits to this day.

With introductions nearly coming to a close, the Rebel Officer looked next to the only female amongst the motley crew. "Private **Quintana Rowen**, sir! I am a Class-1 Master Slicer. Trained in not only system slicing, but also Decryption/ Reconfiguring/ and System Repair as well." Quintana spoke loudly, perhaps trying to sound tougher than she really was. Often times, many of her commanders would whisper Quintana was too beautiful to be serving in this war, though she would certainly disagree.

Once she was finished, all eyes turned their attention to the only remaining teammate left to introduce. In an instant, Ryle bid his eyes to awaken. The haze of staring faces filled the room with anticipation, taunting him with their gaze. Ryle met their stares with one of his own, though his seemed much more hardened. If they didn't already know better, some might've thought it was one of the enemy staring back upon them. "Sergeant Ryle Terhi, sir. Class-1 Weapon Specialist, ranging in all forms of combat from arsenal and melee, to close quarters combat." The roguish Sergeant carried a weight with his words, too indistinguishable to be considered sadness or determination. Perhaps the truth lied somewhere in between.

Now that the squad had been given time to at least learn each other's names, the Rebel Officer stepped to concealed control pad and administered a push to its keyboard, opening the transport's loading doors and extending its walk ramp. "There, now you're all best friends--NOW MOVE OUT! GO, GO, GO!" With no further delay, the small band of rebels rushed from the shuttle and into the crowded hangar, their weapons primed to kill. A moment later and the ramp sealed back in behind them, locking thereafter. They were on their own. The surrounding area was deathly calm, utterly absent of noise. There wasn't a trace of life anywhere to be found among the quiet rows of sleeping fighter ships. A cool current of air breezed from the base's abandoned corridors, shifting through the dimming darkness where Alliance forces once tread. The similarities to a graveyard were far too abundant to state. The four continued carefully into the crudely constructed compound, never dropping their guard for a moment's grace. Power looked to be active in the tunnels leading away from the hangar.

The light fixtures bound to the tunnel's icy roof flickered momentarily as they approached, but still managed to stay operational, a good sign considering the circumstances. Neither squad member wanted to risk a firefight in pitch black. Flocking together with their rifles raised high; the squad marched further into the unknown. Their movements held no fear, no emotion, only the raw resolve of their objective. The team hastened their investigation, tactically covering the close parameters around them with jolting glances. Two members would proceed ahead and check the area for possible threat, then pause in place as the second group passed them up and did the same. For thirty long minutes of constant reconnaissance in and through the base's barren cave tunnels, the unit was rewarded with nothing. No sign of attack, no immediate threat, and no survivors.

"Where is everyone?" Quintana questioned aloud, breaking the long lull of focus. "It's like they just disappeared into thin air?" Peering around to the far reaches of the caverns, it was evident that she had spoken an evident truth. Many things just didn't seem to add up.

Brice looked to the paved snow below them, searching for something that might give them a lead on what occurred here, a footprint, anything, but fell short in the end. "I don't understand what could've happened? If they were attacked, there would be bodies lying around? There would be tracks. There would be blood."

"There was indeed a battle here, Brice." Merid chimed in, calling attention to a blaster bolt burn he discovered singed into the nearest wall a few feet away. "Perhaps they were secretly ambushed by an Imperial infiltration unit and were hit too hard and fast to do anything about it?"

Quintana shook her head in disagreement. "No…even if that were true, there's no way they could've taken the entire base without receiving casualties. No one's that good."

While the other three rebels rambled on about ruling out all possibilities in conference, Ryle casually carried on of his own accord down the lone stretch of tunnel. His instincts calling to him to wander further, guiding him to something he didn't know. When he met the corridor's end and still found no trace of life, he believed his senses to be leading him astray. Though, that wasn't like them. Just as the thought of turning back came to mind, something fixed firmly into a ceiling ventilation grate caught Ryle's attention. "Over here." Ryle's deep voice yelled with cause, earning the hasty return of his fellow rebels.

"What is it?" Brice asked anxiously, arriving with his blaster rifle postured for elimination. Without responding, Ryle reached up to the metallic grate and grasped something in his fist. Shifting his position, he displayed his hand so that all could witness his discovery. Ryle then gingerly unrolled his fingers to reveal a clod of white hair resting gently in the base of his palm.

Quintana grimaced a bit with disappointment, feeling they had rushed over pointlessly. "It's hair. So what?"

Ryle held his stare in her direction, answering with little regard for the woman's intelligence. "Think hard about whom this could belong to."

Merid was the first to take Ryle's advice and closely examine the strands of hair. "Well, they appear to be very thick and matted, and give off an almost greasy residue when touched. They're too bristled to belong to any of the known human or alien breeds in the Rebel Alliance, in fact they actually resemble…" The Zabrak's eyes suddenly lit up with an overwhelming state of fright, as he now understood what Ryle already knew. "No…how could it have gotten inside?"

"Not it...they." Ryle continued. "My guess is it would take about four of them to take the whole base. It's possible it was a pack."

Terhi and Merid's hidden meaning began to confuse Brice to the point of frustration. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. "What is it?! What does that hair belong to?" He shouted to the peak of his speech. Reclaiming his stance, Ryle smirked down the eerie emptiness of the chilled corridor. "Wampas..."


	2. Entry 2: Trapped

"_Wampas? That's impossible. They would've torn this base apart." _Brice said firmly, secretly trying to mask his own fear of facing the carnivorous snow beasts. But how could anyone blame him? Wampas were creatures composed of pure rage and a ravenous hunger, not to be taken likely for their lack of intelligence. In a skirmish, it could take up to two squads just to slay one of the savage creatures, much less four of them.

The small band of rebels quickly found themselves at a crossroads. They were unprepared to meet such a primal threat. Even with their distinct level of training, the intensity of the situation shined through each of them in one way or another. Most of which was just hoping they'd survive this encounter with all their limbs intact.

_"Not necessarily, Lieutenant."_ Merid corrected. _"Wampas are a type of hibernating species. They don't always kill their prey from the start, but rather disable them and drag them back to their home to either store for a later time, or devour immediately. So it would indeed explain the sudden rash of disappearances." _

_"Well, one thing's for sure. If those things are responsible for all of this, we're going to need a lot more than just blaster rifles and frag-grenades to take down an entire pack of them." _Quintana sighed with a reluctant scowl at her blaster rifle.

Brice rolled his eyes once over. _"Well, that's obvious. The problem is that none of us has anything else."_

An abrupt chuckle of amusement emitted from Ryle. Brice looked on at him confoundedly; unable to understand just what he said could've earned such a gleeful response. _"You find something funny about me, Sergeant?"_

Terhi slowed his sputter to a stop. _"No." _He said as his face turned back to a somber blankness. _"It's just that this IS a supply base. Why not take a trip to the armory?"_

Merid found immediate love in the way Ryle thought, feeling absurd they all hadn't thought of it sooner. _"That is an excellent idea, Sergeant!"_ He praised, wasting little time before digging deep into the side-pack fastened tightly to his utility belt. Merid initially ruffled his scaly hand about inside, siphoning through the small multitude of items until retrieving the rolled up base schematics and folded list of master codes for the entire complex; gifts presented to each rebel before the mission, should they become separated. Merid quickly unrolled the map and placed it against the nearest wall, skimming over its vast blueprints with the greatest of observation. Only after finding the armory's location did his hand steady. _"It should be only two clicks northeast of our current position."_

This news pleased Brice, proven with the appearance of a sly grin over face. Everything seemed to be coming together, and not a moment too soon in their case. In a way, he found himself starting to think he was the unannounced leader of this reckless bunch. Neither of them was presented as so, as curious as it may be. This sort of thinking always seemed to be Brice's biggest downfall. He didn't mean to think so selfishly, that's just the way it always turned out. _"Good, then let's move out."_ Brice barked, stepping out in front of the squad so as to lead them onward.

However, just as soon as Brice could plant a single footstep, Quintana caught his shoulder with her hand. _"Hold up. Shouldn't we report back to the transport and have them radio in for more support?"_

_"You heard what the C.O. said. We're all the Alliance can send at the moment."_ Brice answered with a scapegoat tone. On the inside, all he could think about was the opportunities for advancement that would open up if he somehow led them all in killing the enemy behemoths.

Quintana couldn't help but disagree with his decision. Rebel Alliance protocol required them to report in any new developments that might falter the mission's progression. _"Yes, but we should at least try. Even if we had all the ammunition in the universe, these things are still going to be hard to kill."_

Brice smirked confidently to her. _"We'll be fine, little lady. Just follow me."_

_"Excuse me, but I don't recall the C.O. placing you in charge?" _The tone of Quintana's voice took a noticeable aggravation._ "In fact, I don't recall him placing any of us in charge."_

_"Check your tone, soldier. I heard everyone's intros just like you did. I'm the highest ranking officer here. Therefore, I'm assuming control."_

Quintana was now utterly angered by Brice's arrogant dismissal of her opinion. This wasn't the first time she had dealt with overachieving male officers who believed themselves to be above the rules and procedures. Those same men who thought she was better off far away from the frontlines. _"I don't care if you're the Chief of State, you don't break protocol!"_

Tensions were now at a boiling point, ready to explode at any wrong spoken term. Knowing that such arguing had no place at this crucial hour, Merid posted his body in between the two hardheaded individuals, acting as a peacekeeper while Ryle casually slid into a lean against the wall. _"This is not the time or place for such bickering! If you want to argue, then I suggest you take it back to the ship and allow the rest of us to finish the mission." _The Zabrak Physician shouted loudly, trying his best to speak with reason, rather than agitation.

For the time being, Quintana and Brice ceased all useless arguing. Neither looked particularly enthralled to say anything more, anyway. _"Fine…I will."_ Quintana replied fiercely as she turned in place and began to backtrack the way they came.

_"Quintana, please wait!"_ Merid pled, only to watch her disappear behind a bend in the tunnel. Frustration began to overtake the goal at hand and no solution was apparent for the seasoned soldier. He began to question how well the Alliance thought over the selection process for this mission. Though, at the moment, he didn't have the luxury or time to worry about such things. All that mattered was that Quintana was heading off alone into a possible ambush. _"She can't go by herself."_ Merid stated to Brice, who shrugged his head at the thought of going after her. Merid's last hope lied in the silent man propped against the wall before him. _"Sergeant…please." _

Ryle didn't say a word to Merid's request, or even blink an eye toward him. Without giving any notion of acknowledgement, he leisurely strolled off in pursuit of Quintana. Maybe he had become bored with all the bickering and decided to join her at the transport. Or it's possible that he respected something in Merid enough to listen to him. No one could truly understand the way Ryle's mind worked, and he preferred it like that.

After Ryle cleared the last corner of the tunnel, Merid looked back on Brice, whose long face showed that he may've felt deserving of the backlash which he'd incurred. Again, his hungry ego had left him with a sour memory to dwell on at a later date. Sighing tiredly, Merid spoke out to him. _"Now Lieutenant, let's head to that armory."_

--------------------

The walk back to the hangar was not a quiet one. Quintana found herself emptying her mental backlog of curses out loud. She had also regretted what she said earlier, but not because she felt wrong in it. Few people could truly understand why a woman like her was fighting in this war. She hadn't lost anyone to the Empire, and her family's wealth was never crippled by its overly excessive taxing. It all fell deeper than that. She was here because while it did not affect her, it did affect others. People were starving and dying because of the Emperor's selfish laws of gain, and to just sit back and watch it was something she couldn't stomach any longer.

To her, Brice resembled the same male superiors who tried to give her orders she felt were unjustified. Despite a slight feeling of pride in telling him off, the fact that she was running away from the mission was one that sickened her. Sadly, she had allowed all those who degraded her to win yet another victory. Keeping these thoughts to herself, Quintana continued on route through the base's narrow and drafty halls of snowy ice until the hangar bay was within sight. As she navigated around the moderate fleet of X-wings, she thought of how she would explain her presence to the Commanding Officer. It was very likely that she would be reprimanded for abandoning the mission the way she has, but as Quintana passed by the last X-wing in her path, she found that there would be no punishment waiting for her.

What Quintana witnessed next would call a stop to her walk, freezing her like a stone statue. Her jaw weighed to a steady open, crippled by the sensation of terror searing her skin a flush of red. Staring on ahead, Quintana nearly found disbelief in the horror that the transport they had just recently traveled here in was now christened with the blood of others. 


End file.
